


Believe Me

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Comfort, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5035009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*This story does not feature an actual eating disorder but could feature body image issues that are potentially triggering so I have tagged it with 'eating disorder'.*</p><p>Patrick doesn't like the way he looks and Pete can't figure out why he doesn't believe how beautiful he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe Me

Pete watched Patrick. He watched the curve of his smile and the twist of hair against his neck. He watched the fingers dance across the neck of his guitar and scribble down music notes and take Pete apart and put him back together. He watched the weight of Patrick's shoulders increase with all the things he wasn't saying, all the words he was swallowing, all the secrets he was hiding. He watched the spark in his eyes go dark sometimes when he didn't think anyone was watching. 

Pete was always watching. 

He watched Patrick dance between eating too much and eating almost nothing at all. He listened at bathroom doors to see if he heard anything suspicious but he never did. Instead he saw Patrick disappearing into himself for longer and longer and he still wouldn't say a word to Pete. 

"What's wrong, beautiful?" Pete whispered at night, brushing the hair out of the younger boy's eyes. Patrick made the same face he always did when Pete said something he deemed overly sweet, but this time there was something else to it. Patrick didn't believe him. Pete could feel his heart breaking in his chest. 

"Nothing's wrong. Go to sleep."

"But 'Trick--"

"Sleep," Patrick cut him off, rolling over so his back was to the other boy. 

Pete sighed and wrapped his arms around the younger, pushing his face to Patrick's neck and breathing in the scent of him. He wanted to cry. He fell asleep thinking about all the ways he could tell Patrick he was pretty that the younger boy would never believe. 

\---

Patrick pulled his hat down lower and scowled. He looked stupid. Where had the hoodie even come from? Probably Pete. It was purple with a weird design and it was too late to change now. If he even mentioned it to Pete, he would insist Patrick change and none of Pete's stuff fit him anymore and he did not want to have that conversation right now, thankyouverymuch. 

Pete twisted his head to drunk under that hat and kiss Patrick on the mouth. "I can hardly see your face," he commented with a slight frown. 

"That's kind of the point," Patrick said, laughing to make it sound like a joke. 

The other boy didn't laugh. He didn't do anything for moment and then he leaned in for another kiss. His hands moved down to slip in Patrick's hoodie pockets and he pushed them away frantically. It was a ridiculous hand slapping battle while they kissed hard for a minute and then Pete pulled away viciously. 

"Why the fuck won't you let me touch you?!" he yelled. 

"Because I'm disgusting!" Patrick yelled back without thinking. His eyes widened behind his glasses and the blood drained from his face as he realized what he'd said. He turned to run, but Pete had already moved forward or grab him, strong arms crossing over his chest from behind. Patrick fought for a minute, but it was pointless. He slumped forward, defeated, tasting tears on his lips he hadn't even realized he was crying. 

"It's okay, it's okay," Pete was whispering comfortingly, his lips tickling Patrick's ear. He slowly pulled the other boy down until they were sitting on the floor and Patrick could turn and bury himself in Pete's chest. The older boy brought his arms up to stroke his back and his hair, and anchor him the way the other boy had done so many times for him. His lips kissed Patrick's forehead. "You're not disgusting," he whispered, tears filling his eyes as he said it. "You're so beautiful. I don't know why you can't see that."

Patrick didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Pete knew what he was thinking. So he kept going. 

"Your eyes do this thing when you smile really big. It's like a sideways crescent moon. It doesn't happen as much now 'cause you don't smile as big as you used to." Patrick's shoulders jerked uncomfortably and Pete brought a hand up to rub them. "I love your fingers. And your arms. I love the way your arms look when you're holding your guitar. You always wear hoodies when you play now; I never see them."

"Stop," Patrick whispered. He was shaking. 

"I'm not stopping until you know you're not disgusting." Pete sounded calm, but determined. Patrick had a strong desire to bite his tongue off and spit it in his face. 

"We're going to miss the party."

"I guess so," Pete said blandly. He knocked Patrick's hat off so he could kiss the top of his head. "I love your stomach," he whispered, lowering his lips to Patrick's ear as he said it. "I love the curve of it. I love the way my arms can touch more of you when I hold you. I love the way you shake when I fuck you. I love it when you get drunk enough to let me take your shirt off."

Patrick choked on a sob. "Then why don't you fuck me?"

"Because you don't let me," Pete said, a little more defensively than he meant. He took a deep breath. "You go take a shower or roll over or whatever. I'm not going to make you have sex with me. You never made me have sex when I was depressed. But trust me, if I had my way, we'd be having sex at least three times a day."

The laugh was small and choked with tears, but Pete took it as a good sign. 

"I love your feet. They're little and your toes wiggle in socks like they're really excited about something. I love your legs. I love your thighs. I love the way you wrap them around me. I love how real they feel when I lay my head on your lap. I love the way your hips feel when I hold you at night."

Patrick was squirming uncomfortably again and Pete slipped two fingers under his chin to tilt his head up and kiss him on the mouth. "You're the prettiest when you're happy though. I'm not gonna lie. You're not as pretty when you're sad. You're not as pretty when you hate yourself. I still love you and you're still pretty, but I miss the way you look when you're happy."

Patrick just gave a small shake of his head and ducked his head back down when the kiss broke. 

Pete sighed. "I'm going to take your jacket off."

"No." It hardly sounded like Patrick, the voice was so high pitched and tiny. His arms crossed his chest defensively. 

"Patrick, please." Pete was gentle, but his hand was already coming up to tug at the zipper. And, as he suspected, Patrick let his arms slowly fall, along with more tears. The older boy unzipped it slowly and then ever so carefully slipped it down Patrick's arms and folded it before placing it on the arm of the couch behind them. Then he lowered his head and starting feathering kisses from Patrick's elbow to where the skin of his arm just started to peek out under his shirt. 

Patrick shook and he tried not to cry harder, but he didn't yank away and he let Pete pull the other arm across his chest so he could kiss the wrist and each of the fingertips. He didn't even fight it when he felt Pete tug at the hem of his shirt, starting to pull it over his head. He lifted his arms numbly and squeezed his eyes shut when Pete carefully slipped off his glasses and used the shirt to dry his face. 

"Lay down," Pete whispered. 

Patrick shook his head, eyes still closed, panicking. He couldn't. No. But Pete helped him lay back and he didn't fight again. He wasn't sure if he wanted it or he was just beyond the point of caring. Surely this was all a dream. It was too awful to be real. He cried out and moved his hands to push at Pete when he felt the lips start to kiss his stomach. 

Pete's hands pinned his wrists to the floor, and he used his knees to pin Patrick's legs so he would stop squirming. He kissed in circles around Patrick's belly button. He kissed just above the denim of his jeans. He kissed the line where the skin overlapped in a roll. Patrick cried harder so Pete kissed him there again. He kissed the stretch marks just above Patrick's hips. He kissed the scar on his right rib he'd gotten before he met Pete. He kissed the burn scar below it that was from Pete. 

And then he let go of Patrick's wrists to place both hands flat on the boys stomach while he leaned down to kiss him. "Fucking beautiful," he growled forcefully. 

"You're crazy," Patrick told him tearfully.

"Yeah, but that's not why you're beautiful." Pete kissed him again. "If you want to lose weight you can. But you're going to look beautiful no matter what and you're never going to look as beautiful as you do when you're happy no matter what you weigh."

Patrick's eyes were still closed. His hands were on Pete's chest, poised to push him away, but biding their time. He didn't want to admit to himself how nice it felt to have those hands touching him and feeling exactly the same way they did a year ago, two years ago, the first night in the back of Pete's car. Pete still loved him just as much as he had back then. Pete said once that he woke up one day madly in love with Patrick. And unlike all the mad ideas Pete woke up with, this one seemed to have actually stuck. No matter what else had changed. 

Patrick sniffled. "Can we go lay down? Like, upstairs, I mean?" He cleared his throat as the tears slowed and opened his eyes just enough to see Pete's face. 

The older boy nodded. "I'm going to keep holding you."

"Okay."

The younger boy fell asleep with Pete holding him in strong arms, one hand resting on his bare stomach and the other in his hair. It wasn't enough, Pete knew, to fix it. It would take time. And patience. 

But Patrick had done all of that for Pete over and over and again. So Pete would do it now. Starting now and not stopping until Patrick smiled for real and gave off that glow he only did when he was happy, his eyes shining with a warmth inside that radiated out. He deserved to be happy beautiful. Pete was going to make sure it happened. He kissed the sleeping boy's forehead one more time before letting his own eyes shut. 

"Honey is for bees, silly bear," he whispered with a yawn.


End file.
